


Dance with Her Ghosts

by warlockdetective



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warlockdetective/pseuds/warlockdetective
Summary: She sees the way he looks at the counter before him, and something about it brings her back to the present. Away from the faces, and into the sudden absence of the song.Faces and names one will never truly know, faces and names one will never truly forget.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Dance with Her Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This is admittedly rather brief, simply because it's something that comes to me every now and then that I oftentimes find hard to really describe exactly. In short, I think about these two and the places they see a lot, and especially how these places sit with both of them.  
> Honest feedback is appreciated.

It's strange, she thinks, how vividly she sees this place as she wanders, and aimless sort of determination with each step. A melody swells faintly, distantly, and she swears she had heard part of the melody when she was right below the trapdoor; perhaps before she had approached it, even. The lights are dim but vibrant, and it adds another sort of intrigue to the building. Extravagance always seemed to hold a higher importance than secrecy; that's what many had told her over the years, anyway.

There's a somber sort of pleasantness to the melody as it blends with the words of the crowd. The faces are present yet vacant; woods on a foggy morning, or perhaps a memory one couldn't quite recall. The faces ring bells so faintly in the back of her mind, and parts of the voices sound almost familiar. In fact, she finds it almost overwhelming to try and hear one conversation without picking up on another; like poor reception on a radio, those before her are as present as they are absent.

She spots her uncle clear as day, and something about it clicks as off. The light hits him different than it does the rest of the crowd. She sees the way he looks at the counter before him, and something about it brings her back to the present. Away from the faces, and into the sudden absence of the song; one blink, and then another. The faint hint of the sun through the clouds illuminates what remains of the rubble, and it hits Lemony in a way that reminds her of a spirit in an old manor. He seems still, almost lost, in the scenery before him, and he doesn't seem to hear her as she calls his name.

"Mr. Snicket?" she speaks again once she reaches him, quieter than she means to. His hand is shaking slightly as she takes it in hers, and she would brush it off as the cold if it wasn't for the sight that had presented itself to her earlier. She finds herself wondering how many names he would've been able to pin to their faces.

He turns to her, a small sort of shock present before he blinks. He takes a breath, and a weary sort of sigh leaves him as he looks around. He spots the moss on one of the doorways not far from where he stands, and he spots a small patch of withered grass beneath the counter that seems to be left untouched by the elements. He tries to speak, but no words will leave him. Instead, he gives his niece's hand a squeeze; it's enough to keep him grounded.

"Should we leave?" she asks a little hesitantly. Important information rests in this building, but she knows this sort of thing can't be easy for him. She wonders, sometimes, what's worse: having too many questions, or having too many answers. She never knew the latter was possible until her uncle had mentioned it once.

"I'll be alright," he says after a moment, but his voice almost seems to crack. Before he can try to say another word, she pulls him into a hug, and what there was of his composure breaks as he returns it, weeping. She finds herself crying, too; whether for those she knew or those she could've known, she isn't sure, but the tears leave her regardless.

There is a calm, and there is a sigh. "It's been so long," he begins softly, "I..." He pauses a little, but instead says, "Thank you."

She smiles, the same sentiment in the back of her mind. "Was there always this much greenery here?" she asks as she spots a stubborn breed of vine on the walls, and for the first time in a while he lets himself laugh.

"I'm afraid not," he answers, a small smile as he gives the room one last glance. There's something almost comforting about it, she thinks; it reminds her of a small garden that sits in what was once the Baudelaire ruins. Both are empty, but neither are truly barren; life was lost, but life still remains.

With a wordless sort of agreement, they press on.


End file.
